The Comfort of Hidden Glances
by LexiphanicRiette
Summary: And somehow no one connected Draco's abnormal behaviour with Harry's slight chuckling. Though he saw Hermiones smile, and Rons happy gaze at the sound, it was something they hadn't heard in a while. EWE, 8th year, depression, eating disorder
1. Chapter 1

The Comfort of Hidden Glances

Summary: And somehow no one connected Draco's abnormal behaviour with Harry's slight chuckling. Though he saw Hermiones smile, and Rons happy gaze at the sound, it was something they hadn't heard in a while. EWE, 8th year, depression, eating disorder

Rating: T. Merely because of the darker genres of this story.

Warnings: slash/yaoi, eating disorders, depression

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling may have written under a pseudonym, but she certainly isn't the one writing this. Meaning, no I do not own these characters nor the books this story is based upon. All rights belong to J.K. Rowling herself.

And last, a huge thank you to my wonderful beta MisaxMisa. You've been a great help.

Chapter one.

Noise filled the dank dungeon of Hogwarts as students were laughing and making their way towards their first class of the 8th semester. Some had eager smiles on their faces, while others appeared to be moping. Harry Potter was, unsurprisingly taking part in the latter. Double potions – first thing Monday morning. Really? Who would ever think that was a good idea?

With his faithful companions at his sides, sharing their usual banter, Harry could not help but sink further into his misery. Why had he thought coming back to Hogwarts for 8th year would be a good idea? He could easily have taken the generous offer from Kingsley to become a junior Auror. It was not like he dreaded the idea. Just a year ago he would have leapt at such an opportunity, but it's amusing how life can twist and turn in ways you don't expect it too.

But no, he knew why he had chosen to come back. To see Hogwarts come back to life, see the anxious first years enter the great-hall in awe. See the _happy_ faces.

When he first arrived at platform 9 ¾ he'd had a sparkling hope those faces would, at least, lessen the effect of his nightmares. "Not really any impressive results with that" he grumbled bitterly under his breath.

And escaping the loneliness of Grimmauld place, which he had so desperately longed for the whole of summer, hadn't been a sparkling success either. Sure Hermione and Ron were keeping him company, but they were usually too engrossed in each other to helpfill that empty hole in his chest. And let's not forget the amount of awkward tension that had formed between him and Ginny. Along with that and her futile attempts at regaining his attention, she was certainly not helping. What they'd had had been nice, and his feelings for her had been genuine, but now? No. He let out another agonising sigh.

"Hey mate, what's with all the sighs?" Ron asked, though he didn't take his eyes of his girlfriend more than a few seconds.

"Did you have trouble sleeping last night?" Hermione asked, actually shifting her attention to him. "I keep telling you to ask Madam Pomfrey for some potions for it, it's horrible for your health!"

"I'm fine guys, you don't have to worry." A lie. "I slept great last night" Yet another lie, but he doesn't try to hide it. The dark circles under his eyes gave him away before he even opened his mouth. They didn't object either, silently exchanging a worried look instead. "I'm just so overly excited for potions that I can't hold the sounds of contentment in," Harry continues. That earns him a snort and snigger from Ron and a bemused look from Hermione. Their friendly gazes and the unsaid words behind them does make the pain in his chest lessen for one tiny moment.

"Well that's reasonable, it _is _potions after all" Ron answers, breaking the serious underline of the conversation, before turning to address his girlfriend once more. "Now, you said something about some book you wanted for-"

"Ron! It's not just some book, it's the-"

And so, Harry tuned out from their bickering.

His last statement had been a lie, something he's made clear with his sarcasm. Not only was it _potions, _but the different smells and aromas would un-doubtfully remind him of their previous stoic potions master. And he wasn't craving for that memory to arise.

The thought of the Slytherin git (though the man was still quite the git in his eyes, he felt a stab of guilt at addressing the man who'd loved his mother like that)brought his attention to something, or rather someone, that had been plaguing his thoughts since he boarded the Hogwarts Express.

Draco Malfoy.

Call it a habit if you'd like, but Harry hadn't failed to notice Draco's – wait, what!? _Draco's_? Okay, okay, backtracking! He hadn't failed to notice _Malfoy's_ absence on the train, in the carriages or at the opening feast. In fact, Harry hadn't seen that head of blond hair since the war. That thought made Harry frown. Was that true? Had he really not seen Malfoy since then?

His hands had taken to cracking his fingers, a bad habit he had picked up. His joints let out several stratifying cracks, loud enough to distract his train of thought. He shouldn't direct his thoughts towards the war again, it had already kept him from getting precious hours of sleep.

The calling of his name brought his thinking to a sudden stop. When he focused on his surroundings again, he faltered in his steps, noticing his friends had stopped walking, and stood a little waybehind him with a group of amused Gryffindors by the classroom door. Blushing, he turned on his heel and staggered back, ignoring the sniggering Slytherins he had, unconsciously, headed towards.

The hall was filled, as both 7th and 8th years, had potions together. Sparing the snakes a second glance, he noticed Malfoy still wasn't among them. Where was that bloody git? His missing presence somehow kept him on edge. He wasn't worried, but rather…., curious and, irritated. Yes, that's it.

"A little dreamy today, aren't you Harry?" Seamus grinned as Harry stopped next to him, referring back to this morning's breakfast. Harry had spilled his pumpkin juice all over his roommates' plates, spread mayonnaise instead of butter on his pancakes and stumbled on his way out of the Great Hall. With a deepening blush Harry avoided his gaze, muttering something that sounded like a meek 'shut up'.

"Harry, is there something wrong?" Ginny said, striding up to him, putting a hand with pink nail polish on his shoulder, and standing too close for comfort. Harry, panicking, felt an extreme sense of relief when Steelia, one of the more popular 7th year girls, spoke up.

"Hey look, there's light coming from under the door." Several of the students frowned.

"There's no windows in there right? I mean, we're in the dungeons." Her friend, Nina, continued, getting several nods of agreement in response.

"Jeez, you Gryffindors with your dramatic tendencies. There are plenty of candles in there you know." A passing Slytherin snorted.

"Really? I couldn't have guessed! And for you to know? You who are all dark and _afraid_ of the _light_" Dean retorted in a teasing tone, several of the Gryffindors laughing with him. Though, before the fuming Slytherin could shoot back another insult, Harry stepped towards the door.

_What are you doing?! No, stop that! Slughorn isn't here, you know the door is locked_! But despite him telling his brain the facts, _something _kept him moving_._ What? Why? He had no idea, though, later he figured it was simply nothing more than a gut-feeling. And that had served him well most times before. _Not with Sirius, _his mind reminded him – making his stomach clench unpleasantly.

But so, he ignores his housemates' questions and pulls down the door handle. For a second he feared this would only cause Seamus to witness yet another situation to tease him with, but then the door swung open.

He barely noticed the gasps of the students behind him as he peeked in the door. It was, indeed, candlelit.

At first his eyes didn't catch anything abnormal, and it made him wonder exactly what he was expecting. But then his breathing hitched and all thoughts left him. How had he managed to not to notice _him_? Draco Malfoy, seated perfectly calm at the first row, entirely to the left. Still as a statue, but still oh-so much _there. _Alive and breathing, playing as superior as always, and Harry felt _relieved. _ Unconsciously, he smiled.

Thank you for reading. This story will be 5 chapters long, and they're all written and complete and will be posted over the following weeks.

Please, please tell me your opinion on this. I'm inexperienced and a beginner and I would love to know of ways to improve my stories.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

He didn't give away any sign that he had heard nor been effected by their entering. Keep going like that Draco, just remain indifferent. He focused his eyes on the pink, shimmering potion in his cauldron, and reached to stir it. He straightened his back some more and tried to not seem as tense as he felt. He secured himself that his face showed a drowsy type of control.

He already missed the peaceful state he'd been in the last couple of hours, when he'd even felt a tingle of happiness. And for him, that was quite the rare feeling these days.

There had been something about the feeling of sitting in the, though renewed, familiar potions room, listening to the sounds around him. The quiet puttering from a boiling potion and the 'klirring' of the instruments, it had always calmed him down. The strong scents had brought forth the childhood memories he deeply treasured. Countless hours in his godfather's potions lab spent watching, learning. It had all left him in a harmonious state.

Though now it had been polluted by the confused muttering from the Gryffindors, and some bitter and angry remarks from his own friends. No, my own housemates, he corrected himself. Your friends aren't here anymore. He let out an inwardly sigh. Draco, stop it, focus on something else.

Words and whispers reached his ears, complaints and questions. "What is he doing here?" "How did he even get in?" But also rather degrading comments and jokes made at his expense. He ignored those, or tried at least. He knew there were countless pairs of staring eyes, burning in his back. Judging looks, nothing like the admiring looks he was familiar with from earlier years. If only we could close our ears with as much ease as we can close our eyes.

For those around him, his seemingly calm state and the lack of any biting comment seemed to open cracks in the tension. Behind him one of the Patil twins and Lavender Brown, exchanging unintelligent whispers, settled down on a table two rows back. While in the front-right corner, the golden trio's brain got seated and turned her head to the empty blackboard. Well, that's surprising, if her boyfriend isn't seating himself next to her in the next couple of seconds, then that means..., Draco turned his head towards the door behind him. Yep, there he is. Not only Ron though, practically ¾ of the class stood hesitantly around the room.

"How did youget in before Slughorn?" The Weasley asked him when their eyes met. There's that famous Gryffindor courage. The question practically silenced the whole room. His voice was accusing, but too hesitant to sound threatening. Draco hardly showed any sign he'd heard the question, he merely kept looking into Weasley's eyes. Professor Slughorn had grumpily handed him his own key to the potions lab last night, as he wouldn't dare contradict to the new headmistress's orders. Though, there was no chance the Weasley would believe that.

"I fail to see how that is any of your business, Weasley." He answered in his calm, controlled voice with its cold spike. Yes Draco, that's it. Controlled and icy.

He let his eyes drift around the room, meeting all the curios gazes dead on, making them all avert their eyes. In shame? Or fear? Probably the latter. He ignored the feeling of misery, the thought made his heart clench in an unpleasant way. Why do you even care?

Then he froze and it took great amounts of effort to keep up his cool façade. Potter's dumbfound expression and emerald eyes met his sight. What was that fool doing, staring at him, from his frozen position in the doorway? And, what? He looks like he hasn't slept for days. He looks almost, miserable? Yes, but it's well hidden, with experience. Their gazes still held the other. Though not with its usual challenge, merely with indifference. But there was something more, disguised under blank expressions.

Before he could dig deeper into the mystery that's Potters mind, his musing was interrupted by a voice he'd rather not hear.

"But Malfoy, I think it is our business. We were so worried when you didn't show up for breakfast." Said, or rather hissed, Theodor Nott. All the Slytherins behind him snickered, like it was some inside joke. It probably was. Draco only looked away silently, hoping Slughorn would soon make an entrance.

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Harry felt his temper flair, and he sent an unnoticed glare towards Nott. There had been an undertone to that comment he didn't like. It was degrading, but certainly not worried. Malfoy had heard it as well, there was no doubt in that. His face may be stoic and icy, but his eyes showed so much more. But even there his feelings were well concealed. Though _he_ could see it all. The realisation made him quite uneasy, since when had he been able to really read that git? And why was he angry anyways? Since when did he care? In that moment he disregarded it as mere concern for a fellow human being. Nott did kind of remind him of Dudley after all.

He noticed almost everyone had seated themselves now, and was about to move forward himself when Nott thought it smart to add another comment.

"Oh come on Draco" He said, dragging out his name. "Why won't you tell your friends?" Harry bristled, and turned his gaze to Malfoy, expecting him to retort in the clear voice he usually did. Malfoy had turned around, facing both Nott and Harry himself. His shoulders were stiff, and his face blank. He didn't look like ha was about to fling an insult on his fellow housemates anytime soon. Somehow, this fact made Harry open his mouth, facing back towards Nott.

"Theodor" he began, in a dangerous low voice. As the noise level had picked up, not many noticed the small exchange.

What he had been about to say in the next moment is a complete mystery, but the moment he opened his mouth to continue a warm hand clamped itself on his shoulder. To this day he curses himself for not being more alert of his surroundings. The moment the hand touched him his blood ran cold. He flinched and froze. Pictures flickered for his eyes, Cedric, Sirius, Bellatrix. Voldemort. Faster than one would think possible he twirled around and backed away from the intruder.

Slughorn.

It's only Slughorn, Harry. Breath. Stop shaking.

Slughorn regarded him with a knowing look, but then looked towards his students without leaving a comment.

"Now let's keep it peaceful and find our seats," Slughorn voice droned. Most students first noticing their teachers entrance, staggered to their seats. Harry let out a breath of air, trying and failing to calm himself down. What is this? Get a hold of yourself!

His eyes met the silver ones staring him down. Inspecting him. Had he noticed? He quickly averted his eyes and hurried to his seat. No, he was simply curious of why he had interfered with Theo. Yes. That's it. He clenched his quivering hands under the table and turned his attention to the board. What better way to forget than schoolwork.

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Draco's mind was racing. He seemed to be unable to warp his thoughts around what he'd just seen.

First his curiosity had been spiked by Potters tired eyes, face blank and looking almost, angry? For what? And apparently that prick found it amusing to confuse him, because then he'd gone and directed said anger at Theo. Theodor Nott. Who had just insulted Draco with Potter within hearing shot. But, that was just been a coincidence, right? The anger had nothing to do with the latter? But, if so, what had Theodor done to get Potters wand in a knot. Had Nott already taken his place? Even for Potter?

And then, to his prickling dismay Potter hadn't even been able to finish his statement which sounded awfully lot like a threat. Because then, what happened, spiked Dracos curiosity like giving him a book of Quills quizzes, lacking the answers. Draco had seen the door opening and the entering of Professor Slughorn, he'd even heard it, but Potter defiantly hadn't. Oh Potter got himself a fright, who wouldn't have when someone sneaks up on them like that. But to freeze like that? And then presume to jump away like a mouse haunted by a cat?

Well you could safely say that hadn't sunken his burning curiosity. But what shocked him the most, and which made him feel more…, uneasy than plain curious was the fear in his eyes. Pure fear. Burning and consuming. And then his expression had showed embarrassment when he saw who it was. But that wasn't something unusual, that was just the prick acting like himself.

Okay, so Harry was now playing with Nott instead of Draco. He overreacted and became embarrassed of said reaction. It's nothing entirely abnormal, right? Though he seemed unable to get the sight of those frightened eyes out of his head, and also Potters trembling as he sat down. It was all too familiar.

He knew these thoughts led him down a shaky path. Okay Draco, take a deep breath. He did. Good. Now try and think of something else. Something natural, like Potters unruly hair. Yes. That's as natural as it gets. His eyes drifted sideways, absorbing every detail. It could use some styling, a clad of hair gel. If he'd get a pair of scissors he could also preform magic with a haircut.

Wait-what? Draco snapped his eyes back to whatever Slughorn was illustrating, moving abruptly and causing his back to crack. The sound of which came with some unwanted attention. He ignored it. The crack was actually spreading quite a satisfying feeling.

But don't forget the important issue at hand. Since when did he think of Potterlike as a distraction? Of course he had always been distracting, but by admiring his hair? He really was slipping up and slowly getting more and more insane. Like-no. Don't go that way again Draco. Just think of something distraction, which is _not _Potters hair.

And so Draco turned his attention to the professor. And he did absolutely not cast subtle glances towards a certain hero every five minutes. Why would he do that?

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With other unpleasant thoughts threateningly lingering in the back of his mind, Harry actually did his best at paying attention. Though, try as he might Harry hadn't been able to rest his growing suspicion. He'd seen something. Draco Malfoy had noticed something abnormal. The question was what? Surly it would only bring more discomfort and stress on his part.

So he went on with the sighs, catching Ron's worrying look and quickly looking away. He let out a soundless hiss, feeling a stinging feeling in his hand. Looking down he saw the valerian root he was supposed to be cutting next to his finger with a bleeding gash in it. He peeked up at Hermione and Ron, who had their eyes on their own work. (Though their minds were defiantly elsewhere, if their cheesy foot-flirting where anything to go by). He let his eyes drift down to his injured hand. The blood was thick and golden-red. Much alike to the Gryffindor red actually, he observed, though the blood was far more captivating and beautiful. The gash stung and throbbed lightly, he found it wasn't an unpleasant feeling. Studying it more closely he found himself noticing more and more, the light ragged edges on his skin, irritated and a light shade of pink. The way his blood varied in colour, and the tracks and paths it made down his hand. The steady drips and the quite sound it made as it descended on the table.

And it that moment that was all he thought about. He didn't think of his heart clenching loneliness. He didn't feel the nagging of his constant worries. And, he didn't hear when Slughorn told them to pack their cauldrons and deliver their finished potions. He didn't hear when the student packed their books or the loud clunks of cauldrons being emptied. He felt a strange feeling of peace.

"Harry!" Hermione said, and her shrill voice broke his moment of admiration.

"Come on mate, you're the only one who hasn't-" Ron started, a slightly irritated tone to his voice. However, whatever he was about to say was interrupted by Hermione's voice, surprised and, sympathic?

"Oh Harry! Why didn't you say you had cut yourself?"

Shouldn't they have noticed earlier?

She walked over to him, got her wand out and bent down to examine his wound.

"Here, let me help you" She said as she reached for his hand, giving him a reassuring smile, though it had little effect.

"Yeah" he whispers. "Okay" He clenched his muscles, fighting the urge to rip his hand out of hers. He looked away when she cast the spell, he didn't want it healed. He felt the feeling of utter peace he had felt only minutes ago slip further away than ever. It felt like a dream, so far from reach.

His eyes drifted around the room. It still looked like the same potions room he saw this morning. He furred his brow, the observation had left a strangely disappointed feeling in his gut. He'd felt his moment of bliss changing, revealing, like it should be visible somehow, at least to a certain degree. He met the fourth pair of eyes in the room, two sharp orbs meeting his gaze straight on.

Malfoy.

Why was he still here? Their eyes stayed locked, and for the third time this day Harry found that it lacked its usual passion. Malfoys eyes were boring into his and Harry felt a strange feeling of dread of the look in them. Understanding? Curiosity? Malfoy had seen something. Again. Or was it still about the moment from just now? Harry quickly looked away. Malfoy couldn't have seen that. He wouldn't have understood what it meant.

"Harry?" Hermione addressed him, her voice gentle and concerned. He shifted his gaze over to them, catching the exchange of an uncertain look. "What?" His voice was strangely hoarse.

"We- eh, we." Hermione started, fumbling over her words.

"What she means to say mate is that, you seemed pretty out of it and we wondered if you were okay?" Ron helped her out, with an oddly gentle tone.

"Thank you Ron. We just wondered if you're okay Harry. You know you can talk to us about it right?" Hermione said to him, looking into his eyes with a determined look.

Harry frowned, he didn't know what to think. The moment, for once, he'd felt in control.

"Guys, I'm fine. You don't need to worry." For once, it wasn't a complete lie. He sent a quick look over at Malfoy. Was that what he'd thought as well? That the blood had made him uncomfortable? Draco looked back at him with a blank face, and calm eyes.

He looked back at his friends, who seemed to have a silent discussion between themselves. Since when had he lost a part in those? Considering it safe, he shifted his gaze, once again, back at Malfoy and raised an eyebrow in a silent question. Malfoy simply jingled with a pair of keys in response.

His attention was brought back to his friends when Hermione sent him a smile said "Okay. Did you want to-"

Malfoy coughed. "Sorry to disturb your therapy session, but I have a class to attend and would like to get going." He ringlet with his pair of keys for an extra effect. His tone was strangely polite.

While Harry had been well aware, even too aware, of Dracos presence, (Damn Harry, come on! Make up your mind already, is it Draco or Malfoy?) Ron and Hermione were apparently not. Ron jumped and spun around.

"Merlin, Malfoy! How long have you been here?" Draco simply lifted an impatient eyebrow and continued jingling his keys, clearly not finding the question worthy an answer.

Before anyone got the chance make a retort, Harry stood up and walked towards the door. He silently heard the rest follow.

He went through the next classes in a haze, more than once having to be addressed twice before he reacted. When he'd had the chance to retreat back into his own thought his mind seemed unable to let go of what had happened in the potions lab. And then there was Malfoy. Malfoy, Malfoy, Malfoy. And by the time they walked over to the great hall for lunch, it was Draco.


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you so much for reading this, feedback would be wonderful

Chapter Three

But Draco wasn't at lunch. Draco had no intention of eating lunch either really, but he'd at least hoped to get another chance to study the mystery that is Potter. (From a distance of course) Oh well, he sighed, that is not going to happen. He had, however, expected _this_ to happen sooner or later, he'd just mentally convinced himself it would be later.

"What can I do for you gentlemen?" He asked politely, but the mocking undertone seemed to echo in the silent hall. True to their inner Slytherin though, none showed any indication to have heard it. The boys in front of him simply sneered. Theodor Nott, taking place in front of the other Slytherins' let out a chuckle. A chuckle? Really? What a poor excuse of a leader they'd exchanged him for.

"Oh we're simply here to ask some questions" Theodore said with a sickly sweet voice.

"Oh really?" Draco's face was blank as he let out an inwardly sigh, there was no need to show his opponents his weariness.

"We want to know how you did it, and we want in. I'm sure you have an entertaining enough plan on what to use it for." Theodore said, and his voice took on a sudden serious twist. He assumed the first part applied to his mysterious early entry in the potions classroom.

"Excuse me, what did I do exactly?" He feigned innocence, despite the fact they wouldn't believe him.

"Cut the crap Malfoy, we want to know how you were able to obtain the key, and we expect to be let in on your plan." An unknown Slytherin sixth-year all but growled.

"Now, now Erik. There's no need to be rash, I'm sure Malfoy intended to tell us, right?" Theodore interrupted, and sent a look towards this Erik-character, surely promising he would attend to him when they were done here. Sneaky bastard.

Draco let out a humours laugh, "Well then I would have to disappoint you. The door was already open, and I was early. A fine coincidence." It was a lie, and they all knew it.

It seemed that that was all which was necessary for Theodore to lose his patience. Pathetic. They stepped forward, and he unconsciously turned his back more towards the wall. The wall was steady, safe. Let them think he was a coward.

The adrenaline that flared through his body at the thought of what they could do made him shiver. Grin. Made him feel alive!

He found he enjoyed this game, they weren't even aware he was messing with them. Psyching them up, teasing them, and taunting them. He was filled with such a buzz that he couldn't help but shiver. He wanted to lash out on something, on someone, making them hit him, initiating a challenge. A wicked grin stretched across his face at the thought, and he met all of his opponents gazes with a gleam in his eyes.

Apparently his sudden change of mood was unexpected, because it flared them up, as opposed to scaring them.

"Malfoy?!" Erik said as if accusing him, though with uncertainty to match Longbottoms.

Theodore took yet another step forward, separating him from the others, an act of either bravery or stupidity, placing him face to face with Draco himself. An ugly sneer adorned his face, eyes reflecting that he refused to back down from the maniac look in Draco's own.

"Now, Malfoy" He practically spat out his name. "You're a smart guy, so you would realise that this -" He lifted his arm, referring to thembeing the only occupants of the hallway. "- can only end in the favour of one of the parties. And if you haven't figured out whom yet, I can help you there. You see, _we_-" his arm now pointed towards himself. "-we consist of one, two-" He looked behind him, pointing while counting mockingly. "-five. See? And you are, well, you." They all sniggered. This dampened his mood more than it should. It just _hurt. _It's not like they used to be close, but they'd been acquaintances, classmates. He had to fight to keep up his mask. What happened to 'Slytherins' always protect each other?'

Theodore pressed himself further into Draco's personal space. "Now, if you don't start using that little brain of yours, we will have to-"

"You will have to do what, Mr. Nott?" A familiar voice interrupted from down the hall.

Draco didn't look, he knew who it is. He kept his eyes locked with Nott's wide ones. He should have been happy for the interruption, he knew he should, but he wasn't. Not when everything only seemed to bring more misery. If Theodore had hit him, or slapped him, or inflicted any physical injury or pain at all, he'd have a reason to feel down. He would feel it deserved. Not like this, poor little Draco, can't sleep at night because he was called stupid by his classmates.

He sighed.

Theodore seemed to be equally disappointed by the disturbance, but his face also showed irritation and huge amounts of fear. Actually, he seemed entirely petrified. The thought made him let out a little grin. He broke the staring contest and gave a polite nod towards the headmistress.

She nodded back. "Am I interrupting something important here, Mr. Nott?" She looked at him, with an impression suggestion she was looking at a piece of gum stuck under her shoe, thoroughly revolted.

"N-No headmistress, we'll just be going then," Erik rushed out. It looked like the kid had some guts then, he even recovered faster than Nott himself – barely stumbling over his words.

This seemed to shake Nott out of it, and he nodded to McGonagall. "There is nothing to worry about Headmistress; we were just talking to Draco here."

McGonagall wore an expression which clearly said she didn't believe a word of what the boys' said.

"Then I must ask you to leave the conversation, as I would like to have a word with Draco myself." She dismissed, leaving no word for arguing.

The boys, whom earlier had oozed self-confidence, seemed to have lost all their bravery and fled the scene without a single look back at Draco. Ugh, typical Slytherins. His thought made him snort. Inwardly, of course.

"You wanted to talk to me headmistress?" He asked politely when she didn't offer a first comment.

She offered him a rare smile. "Yes Draco, should we move up to my office?" It wasn't a question, rather an order - but kindly so.

"Yes." He whispered, and followed her down the hall.

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He isn't here.

Draco isn't here.

He sighed. Again.

He'd actually looked forward to lunch, for once. Merlin knows why, but he'd looked forward to seeing Malfoy. Draco. Maybe it's still the curiosity speaking, the urge to know what he thinks. Or the pathetic wish that he'd understood more than he'd let out.

He almost sighed again.

When he thought about it, he hadn't seen Malfoy at any mealtimes since school started.

Ron and Hermione were sitting across from him, and again were deep in a discussion. It seemed Dean and Neville were also involved, even Seamus was adding a comment. Oh. He found he didn't even care. Even if they would've tried to involve him, he'd prefer to stay quiet. In his own thoughts. Alone.

Again, he almost sighed.

His mood had gone from numb to depressed, and he felt a raging desire to do nothing. Not have any duties that needed to be done.

He'd only have to make it through double Herbology with the Huffelpuffs and write his Potions essay. Then dinner. Maybe. After that he could finally sit, lie down, maybe even sleep for a couple of hours. Alone. He couldn't wait.

He sighed.

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Draco felt slightly better when he left the office, though he was more worn out. Tired. He'd missed lunch – for which he felt no disappointment at all – and was allowed to pass ancient runes since he'd already missed half of it.

He'd have to catch up, his grades were already slipping and the thought made him weary.

It had taken him a lot of energy to convince McGonagall that what had taken place in the hallway had merely been an innocent disagreement. And lies. A lot of lies.

At the end she'd let him go with a warning, almost a plea, for him to inform her if things got out of hand with other students. He'd promised, which had been another lie.

It was not that he didn't trust her enough to tell her, quite the opposite. He owed her oh-so much, and no-one could even begin to imagine how grateful he was for all she'd done for him.

But that was just it.

She'd helped him when no one else would. She'd been there and listened when he'd poured his heart out, cried of the unfairness of it all and begged for a second chance. When he'd banished all thoughts of Malfoy etiquette and manners. His father would have been disappointed, had he not been forced to flee.

He missed them, his parents.

She'd seen more of Draco that anyone had ever seen before and, somehow – may it be of motherly instinct or pity – she'd helped him. She'd allowed him to stay at Hogwarts over the summer as the ministry had taken over the manor, claiming they would have to search it for illegal possession of dark artefacts. She had put so much trust in him, none of it deserved. He could do what he wanted, with no restrictions. To his surprise she'd even let him use the potions lab as he wished, hence the key.

He wasn't proud of how he'd broken down, the next day he'd been ashamed and furious at himself. Malfoy do not cry and beg, but he was grateful that she'd taken it in such a manner.

She'd given him so much, and the least he could do is to not cause her more stress. He could deal with this himself; there was no need to cause a disturbance. It's just a little teasing from his housemates, nothing to get to damned upset about.

He should be happy, with how lucky he'd been. He could have ended up like Goyle.

Maybe that just would have been better.

He snorted. What sort of pity party was he throwing for himself? Pathetic. He'd gotten a second chance, he owed them to take it.

He owed Potter. Bloody hell.

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Harry solemnly, but efficiently, walked out of class in the outskirts of a group of Gryffindors. Herbology had been a disaster. He longed for class to finish, praying Professor Sprout wouldn't assign any homework. But then he'd been careless with a screeching rose, pricked himself on its thorns and thus had to endure the high-pitched shrieking in his ear for the rest of class. He'd found he hadn't understood anything of what Professor Sprout had been explaining – not that he'd put in much effort to understand in the first place – and on top of that there had been an impromptu quiz. The frustration of it all had made his longing for class to end worsen, but luckily a smile wasn't that hard to transfigure – it didn't even require a wand.

'_Malfoy would have seen right through it,' _a voice in his head supplied. Yeah right. Where did that idea come from?

'_Whatever,'_ he thought. Herbology was over, and there was just the Potions essay left.

Just the potions essay. Then dinner.

He kept chanting, resurging himself, and hardly noticed he'd picked up speed. His friends had walked towards the stairs, heading to the common room, but he'd kept walking in the direction of the library.

Even though the Gryffindor common room tended to be decent, it was by no means a quiet place to study.

Taking the turn into the library, he nodded to Mrs. Pince and looked around. It wasn't necessarily crowded, but several of the tables were occupied by groups of studying students.

He sought out a free table by the window, all the way back between some dust filled bookcases. Perfect.

He reluctantly started working, and despite his rebellious conduct towards the subject, he was soon engrossed in his work.

If only he could remember if the batwings would make the potion boil, or freeze. Batwing reacts when added with goosegrass. It boils. But when the rose thorns are added it reduces its effects, and then there's the rose _oil_ and the honey which does that and the-

He groans aloud in frustration. He'd managed to get down about 6 of the 10 inches, before he'd gotten stuck. Curse this.

He smashed his head overdramatically down on the table, turning his face sideways to breath. He has a full view to the library's entrance if he angled his head just right. Maybe Hermione would miraculously stride in the doors and give him the answers. Or Malfoy. Malfoy wass good at potions.

'_Oh fuck this,'_ Harry forcefully sat back up. Malfoy. Malfoy. Malfoy. Since when had his brain fallen in love with Malfoy without him noticing? Since when did he think of Malfoy as a kind, understanding saint? He snorted. A saint, yes, that was a very fitting title for that blonde git.

'_You don't even know him, Harry.' _

'_You don't know him.' _

'_You haven't really tried either.' _

Well, this was not the time to start. The war may be over, and despite all the shit he had gotten for being a death eater, he is not in Azkaban. But still, he hates you. And Harry hated him back.

That was the deal.

He may not have remembered what exactly happened with the batwings, but he finished that essay within the next 10 minutes.

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When he walked into the library, he saw Potter writing furiously on a poor piece of parchment with an oddly determined look on his face. Well, oddly determined for working on what he imagined was the potions essay anyway.

Unaware of himself, he kept his eyes on him for what was probably a creepy amount of time, turning his head slightly when he passed Potter's seat.

He'd just thought… well, he wasn't sure what he expected, but up to this moment they seemed to have a strange sort of silent communication when they were in the same room.

Potter could have at least looked up.

He crushed the feeling of disappointment in his gut. He was, in fact, simply curious, nothing more.

What he'd witnessed at the end of potions had been reeling in his head since he'd left McGonagall's office, making his attempt at finishing his Arithmancy essay in his secluded corner in the Slytherin common room a failed one.

And as the situation was, his hope on succeeding in the task here seemed even more of a hopeless cause.

He came to a stop between the bookcases across from potter, just a couple further to the left. He didn't sit down, and he was not aware of the few weird glances he got either. He just stood there, staring indignantly.

The sight of Potters fascination when he'd cut himself flashed in front of his face. It worried him. He wouldn't admit it, never mind say it aloud, but there was a strange tinge of worry building in his gut.

Or maybe it was the fact that Potter had looked at _him, _without even a hint of the well-known resentment from previous years. Rather as if he was opening himself up to Draco, desperately telling him something, but what?

When Potter slammed his books shut and crammed his work into his shoulder bag with a speed Draco was sure must've broken some sort of record, he found himself backing into the shadows.

Why he didn't want Potter to see him, he did not know. Moments ago he was practically moping because the boy hadn't noticed him.

As he watched Potter leave with a tired and dull, yet hurried tinge to his steps, he yet again crushed whatever that small ball in his gut wanted him to feel, and turned his back to the now empty doorway entry.

Why would he be worried for Potter anyway?

A part of his brain reminded him, yet again, of what he witnessed at the end of Potions, and he almost gave in to the worry streaming through his veins.

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"Harry?" Harry froze and wanted to curse under his breath. Why hadn't he learned how to keep his steps quiet and himself unnoticed? He was sure he'd had enough practice.

He turned around and addressed his friends with a smile, "Hey guys."

Ron, Hermione and Ginny where all seated at their usual seats by the fireplace. For a change, Ron wasn't the one bowed over one of the ends of the chess board, but it appeared he was instructing Ginny and an unenthusiastic Hermione in with the games functions.

Hermione returned his smile and beckoned him over with a small wave. Apparently she would take any excuse to turn her attention away from the game.

"We were just talking about you, how did it go with the Potions essay? I could always help you finish it if you're tired you know."

Dear Hermione, always noticing when something's wrong.

"Thanks, but I finished it." Harry smiled as he settled down in his regular chair, but he was still tense and on the edge of his seat.

"I could always look over it for you? Make some corrections?" Hermione said, making Ron send her an incredulous look. She was, in a way, quite overeager to help.

Well, maybe it's because of the chess game.

"No it's okay, I think it's decent enough," He answered. He honestly couldn't be bothered to try and set his mind on his essay again. Batwings be damned, that essay was good enough.

But when she frowned he hastily added, "but thank you though," giving her a winning smile.

Hermione gave him a smile and a hesitant nod, "If you say so Harry."

Ron only directed his incredulous look at him, before shaking his head and making a move on the chess board. Probably in Hermione's turn, by the way Ginny suddenly straightened up and shifted her gaze to the board in front of her with a frown.

Ginny had been mysteriously quiet since his arrival, normally she would be the first to greet him, and go to great lengths to keep his attention.

Well, he wasn't going to poke a sleeping bear.

"Would you like to help me play, Harry?" Hermione asked him. "Ronald is very insistent and frankly I'm not that eager." She added, sending a slightly guilty and exclusive look at Ron.

Ron, as a response, just shook his head helplessly, but was also visibly amused. "Mate, I think my girlfriend is asking you to be her knight in shining armour here." And without the glint of jealousy in his eyes that he would have had before the war, he simply added, "Don't disappoint the lady now," and grinned at him.

With a clenching feeling in his chest, Harry agreed, because he couldn't say no to his friends. If not only to give them an image that he was at least managing, but because he owed them that much. And when he nodded and gave them a small grin, the way their faces lit up pressed the clenching feeling in his gut down for a few hours.

He found that, despite how much he longed to be in his bed, behind the curtains, he really had missed his friends. Even with Ron's not-so-subtle attempts at helping them play, Ginny still crushed them – probably because Harry was no better at chess than Hermione. Despite that fact, simply spending time with his friends really was nice.

And when he politely excused himself to his room two hours later, he didn't feel the disappointed and worried gazed burning holes in his back like usual. They only gave him smiles, as if it was normal for any teenager to go to bed at eight-thirty, and wished him goodnight. The happy and proud tinge in Hermione's voice put a smile on his face all the way to his bed.

Please please tell me what you think of it?

There's two more chapters to go, the next one won't be up for another couple of days though, as I'm going away. But you'll get the two finishing chapters rather simultaneously.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Later, practically in the dead of night when most sensible students were a sleep, Draco was lying awake in bed and staring at the ceiling. This, in itself, was not an unusual occurrence. Though there was a difference from those other nights. He was dead tired, yet he simply _couldn't _sleep. No matter how many sheep he counted or how deadly still he stayed, that numb feeling of unconsciousness seemed nowhere within reach. And that was something he'd never had a problem with.

Normally it was the other way around, he usually fought to keep his eyes open and struggled not to think of countless sheep and hippogriffs.

Things really seemed to be flipped upside down today.

Letting out a soundless little sigh, he sat up. He felt the familiar hollow feeling in his stomach as the once calming green curtains surrounding him began closing in. Trapping him in their clutches. Resisting was useless.

Before the too familiar shaking in his fingers took over, he rose quietly and slipped out of the room with practiced ease, and meandered his way around the cracks on the stairs.

The common room had a lonesome gloom over it, an unsettling darkness dominating in the numerous corners and hiding places. The few remaining embers in the fireplace illuminated its surroundings with a weak glow. Draco shuddered. He was paranoid as it was, and the unnerving chamber did nothing to ease his anxiousness.

He tried settling down on the dark green couch securely in a shadowed corner, feeling the snakeskin like patterns through the thin fabric of his pyjamas.

There was an unusual unsettling feeling creeping up in him

Normally he would not risk venturing out in the halls after curfew, he was hanging on a thin enough thread already. But there was something, some feeling, trapping him, giving him an illusion he would be struggling for breath in a matter of seconds.

Rash decisions had never been in his league, though in the next moment all traces of common sense seemed to vanish and he found himself stepping out into the cold hall.

He gritted his teeth, and unconsciously let his arms tighten around his torso. If it wasn't for his colossal fear of ending up in an Azkaban cell if Mrs Norris got a trace of him, he would probably have banged his head against the wall with a chant about his own idiotic choices. Though he may be slightly, overly paranoid.

He stood deadly still in the darkened halls. There wasn't that much of a visible difference despite the hour. The lightning was slightly dimmed, but otherwise it was oddly alike how it would be at daytime.

It was strangely disappointing.

Hogwarts was an old castle, and old castles caused many small sounds. It had always made many small sounds, through all the seven years.

He was well aware of this fact. But, for whatever reason, every small crack and every pitiful wail made him jump and sent chills to his bones.

Bloody hell, this is what had become of the last of the Malfoys. Great.

With his head bowed in defeat, and his arms still close to his chest, he hurried back into the snakes den.

And he may not have been as soundless as he should have been the way up the stairs, but when he reached his bed, slipped under the covers and closed his curtains he felt safer than he had in a long time.

Though the dreams of endless corridors, wheezing shadows and a disturbing amount of cats was not the most pleasant, it was at least something new.

DxHxDxHxDxHxDxHxDxHxDxHxDxHxDxH

When Harry woke up the next morning he had suspected a strange new optimistic feeling, but instead he simply felt numb. It wasn't a negative feeling of sorts, in fact it came more as a relief.

There was a petite stream of sunlight making its way through the barely visible crack of the curtains.

He could still hear Ron's heavy snores to his right. He should probably wake him up, so they could actually make it to breakfast with time to eat peacefully.

But it was nice having a brief break from his recent turmoil.

Ever since the war Harry had had these feelings. Been in this funk. Depression? Survivor's guilt? Post-traumatic stress disorder? He didn't know. He didn't really care either.

He'd tried, really, he had. He did all his homework, he showed up for Quidditch practice and he ate at least something for every meal. He had great friends. People looked up to him, and treated him like any normal person, surprisingly. So why? Why was he so sad?

He didn't see why he did all these things anymore either. There was no meaning behind them. No feeling of content or happiness anywhere within his reach. It was just a duty which had to be done.

Just, emptiness.

Nothing.

He was just numbly walking – no, running, rushing through life. Waiting for something to be done. For the day to be over, only to start all over.

And that shouldn't be so bad, should it? Then why, why did he feel so sad? Why did he feel so sad for no specific reason that he could comprehend.

At the beginning it hadn't been so pronounced. The high that came with the end of the Dark Lord had lasted for weeks, simply the high of surviving had at least helped him shake off the strange sadness growing in the back of his head.

In the beginning he hadn't really noticed it either. It had just been him, having some bad days.

Then there were only bad days. And then there came horrible day's as well, overshadowing the solemnity of the bad ones.

And even in the few happy moments, his thoughts always knew how to catch him and drag him back down.

He let out a wistful sigh. Trying and failing to simply enjoy the feeling of the soft duvet without being absorbed by his thoughts.

Today there was breakfast, double Transfiguration, then a free hour to rush through whatever essay assigned, lunch, Care of Magical Creatures, Potions, dinner, homework and then a late Quidditch practise. Another long day.

He seemed to always be thinking. Planning. Rushing. He was simply thinking too much.

He snorted, the thought of him thinking too much would have been absurd any time before the war.

A crash, probably from eager students down in the common room, and a loud yawn from one of his roommates was what finally forced him to drag his legs from under the duvet and get out of bed.

Another long day indeed.

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Sometime before, down under the lake in the snakes dwelling place, one of the beds in the '8th' year bedchambers lay empty. There were only two there, this year. Theodor Nott, still sleeping soundly and uncaring in his bed in the right corner. And then there was Draco. Draco Malfoy.

Sharing a room with Theodore actually wasn't as bad as he'd suspected. The boy seemed to still have some sort of respect for him, or he simply couldn't be bothered with paying him any attention when it was only the two of them. They mostly kept to themselves and the both of them tried their hardest not to have to communicate on any level.

So, there was no reasonable reason why Draco should be standing there, alone, locked inside their shared bathroom.

But, despite his ventures out of bed last night, he'd still found himself waking as the sun peaked up behind the towering mountains in the east, causing shimmering green light to make its way through the water of the lake visible through the windows.

The constant tiredness was wearing on him. He stood perched on his toes, shoulders hoist up, stripped of any clothes in front of the mirror. A stunned mirror actually, he was not about to do this with a constant stream of comments from the talking piece of furniture.

He looked himself over. A light trail of blonde hair between his protruding hipbones was visible in the high-hoisted mirror. He was bony. His hipbones were painfully visible, his pale stomach was flat, and his ribs were sticking out. He sneered at himself. He looked like a ghost. Any traces of muscles from long and tiring Quidditch matches looked like they'd never been there. He had black circles under hollow eyes. Skinny like a starving man.

After the war he'd been so relieved. He had his life, his parents where both alive and he was free.

Though life was apparently not willing to make it easy for them, and after a series of events he found himself here. At Hogwarts. Alone.

But now was not the time to dwell on the past. He'd paid for his own mistakes and cowardice, he guessed.

The matter at hand, was that this had to stop.

He knew it. He saw in which direction this was going, and it was not a pleasant one.

It had been a desperate attempt at having control of a part of his life, but this was not control. This was destruction.

He'd been well aware of it from the start, the consequences. Though it had been nothing that concerned him at the time.

He sighed. Enough of this overanalysing, it wouldn't get him anywhere.

He was lucky, in a way, he guessed. He didn't have an eating disorder, not really, did he? He felt the strength within him to drag himself out of this dark circle. He hadn't sunk so far that he couldn't see the light. It was still within reach.

If only the will was.

But that was the challenge, wasn't it? Was his will strong enough? Or, rather, was he strong enough to take that strength and try? He guessed he had to. He decided he had to.

Turning away from the mirror after meeting his own eyes, he heard shuffling from their room. He sighed again.

Bless Merlin for cleaning charms and big robes. He wouldn't come far without them.

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Seeing Malfoy at breakfast was about the only thing worthy of mention. happening for Harry that day. The amount of food he'd eaten was pathetic, and he seemed unreasonably uncomfortable as he sat there, alone, at the outskirts of the table. They'd actually, yet again, ended up staring into each other's eyes until Malfoy had looked down at his food in disgust before he took another bite of it. It seemed to cost him a great deal of concentration.

Yet, the rest of the day passed in a boring haze of waiting in class for it to end and, with the exception of a few more frightening, yet strangely uplifting exchange of gazes and small gestures as a means of communication between him and Malfoy. Draco.

And, along the way, their way of communication turned from hesitant and weary, to helpful and friendly.

He didn't think any of them really understood what they were doing.

Some exchanges were meaningless yet sweet, like Draco pointedly making sure he paid attention, then preceded to, in no way discreetly, show him what he was doing wrong with his potion, and how to make it better. All the way across the other side of the room with adorable huge gestures.

And somehow no one connected Draco's abnormal behaviour with Harry's slight chuckling.

Though he saw Hermione's smile and Ron's happy gaze at the sound.

Other exchanges carried a sense of seriousness with them. At lunch, Draco seemed to be struggling more with his food than he had that morning. And Draco seemed to shrink in on himself halfway through the meal. When his hesitant gaze met Harrys, he felt himself smile, a genuine smile of encouragement, his gaze gentle.

As a matter of fact, not only that day, but the whole week seemed to pass in the same matter. And then the week following that as well. And soon his strange friendship with Malfoy, consisting of jokes, smiles, help, encouragement and understanding from both sides, seemed to be a regular and welcoming part of his everyday life.

Harry felt lighter these days. He still ventured to his bed too early for anyone his age, and he still felt the constant aching sadness. But he found he enjoyed the time with his friends more, he stopped pushing them away as desperately as before. And some of his smiles didn't feel as forced.

And Draco.

The thought of his friend made him smile. Real and genuinely.

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Draco felt happy. The feeling was rare, but from time to time, Draco smiled, and genuinely meant it. Life was no walk in the park, no, life still sucked. He still had nightmares, laid awake at night, and eating was still a nightmare in itself.

Theodore and his pals may have backed up one tiny bit since the incident with McGonagall. But irritating him still seemed like their only source of entertainment.

When it came to the food. The meals. He was slightly proud of himself. Since he'd first ventured into the great hall for a meal, he'd eaten three times a day. No exceptions.

The meals where small. A cracker. A apple. Sometimes half a plate of vegetables. Though there were always three meals a day.

He was a pattern person, and he had a strong willpower. As long as he followed his pattern, as long as he didn't allow himself to skip _one _meal he'd be okay.

But if he slipped up once, he'd slip up again.

And again.

But in those moments it all annoyed him. In those moments he would sit in class after lunch, feeling whatever he'd eaten resting heavily in his stomach. In these moments he'd curse himself for doing this. In those moments he was about to run out the door any second, he'd look up.

And there was Potter, meeting his eyes. Smiling at him.

Harry bloody Potter.

And for one tiny little moment, he'd feel that happiness, and somehow, it all became easier to bare.

The source of these moments of happiness was Harry.

He'd admitted as much. But he wouldn't venture deeper. He was not allowing himself to analyse these feelings.

For some reason.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

It happened after another 2 weeks, exactly 5 weeks and two days after the beginning of their last school term. That was when the pattern broke.

And when it first broke, it shattered. Crushed by a series of events which were bound to happen with time.

It was one of those days, one of those rainy stressful days. Harry had woken up, overcome by an empty and hollow feeling. It wasn't an unfamiliar feeling, but this day the feeling seemed to take control of him. Trap him. So dominating, holding him down.

He'd made progress, been happier, but days like these weren't seldom.

So it happened, that this very day, despite a deep feeling of longing for seeing Draco at breakfast – which he wasn't going to dig too deep into, Harry decided to give in to the miserable feeling keeping him in bed.

Why? Why stand up? Why eat? Why go to class? He kept asking himself these questions. Either unable, or afraid of finding an answer. So he stayed, huddled up under the duvet, empty eyes roaming the cealing.

Dean and Ron, had studied him with sad looks, both giving supportive smiles and words of encouragement before they'd left him alone. He hadn't even realised when he'd stopped pretending to be okay. A tinge of guilt rose up in his chest, making him dislike himself more then he already did.

Pathetic. That's what he was. Bloody pathetic. What happened with the golden boy who'd fought death countless times even before he was of age? And now he was wasting that life so many had fought and died for. The thought of his mother and father. Of Remus, Fred and Sirius made him nauseous.

Dead.

All of them.

For him.

Dead.

Pictures kept flashing before his eyes. His whole body was shaking.

He barely made it to the bathroom before the breakfast he hadn't eaten came up. That was how Hermione found him minutes later. Heaving into the toilet, with a tear streaked face and desperately clinging to the seat.

He always did this to himself. When the miserable feelings became too much, he'd dig deeper into his mind. Drag up every dreadful memory.

Hermione didn't say much. She only kept repeating his name. Hearing her voice crack and become more desperate as she helped him to his bed madehis heart shatter. Sweet, sweet Hermione. Guilt overtook him. He'd never wanted this for them, his friends, his family. So when she laid him down on his bed, he clung to her and he began to sob. Heart wrenching sobs tore through his body. He wasn't aware of his surroundings anymore, all there was, was his dear and kind friend. 'I'm sorry.' 'I love you.' 'I'm so so sorry.' He kept repeating it, like a mantra, desperate for them to know. To understand.

For the first time ever, Hermione Granger skipped class.

It was hours later, when Hermione left to get them both some dinner and Ron had joined them that Harry's thoughts returned to Draco.

His rock. His fragile companion. That beautiful, strong man.

His feelings for him where foreign, unexplored and frightening. Whatever kind of relationship they had was unknown. But for him, it didn't really matter. For _them_ it wasn't important. It was just them.

Draco and Harry.

Harry and Draco.

And it was because of this that Harry, full of determination, slowly raised himself from the bed and stumbled his way to the door. His hair was still a mess, and the pair of Dudley old sweatpants he wore hung low on his hips. But he didn't care. Because Draco was alone. And Harry had left him, abandoned him.

He left a confused Ron in the dorm and a concerned Hermione in the common room, with only a simple comment to explain.

"I'm have to find him, I only have to make sure he is okay".

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He hadn't managed it. He'd failed.

He tightened his arms around his undrawn knees. He sat in the corner, the corner with a full view up the astronomy tower staircase.

He'd failed.

His head was buried in his knees, and his hands were clinging desperately around his ankles. Harry hadn't been there at breakfast. When a concerned looking Weasley and Thomas had walked in, and when Granger had practically ran out of the great hall under a minute later he'd known something was wrong.

Harry. His brave, brave rock. He never fully realised how much he cared, how deep and how terrifying it was not to know. To worry.

What if something had happened? What if, what if?

He hadn't been able to eat anything. And by the time lunch had rolled around he hadn't even bothered going to the great hall.

He'd been in the tower since.

He'd failed. He was pathetic. And Harry may as well be in St. Mungos in a coma. He was shaking. He was driving himself mad.

He could feel hunger scratching the inside of his stomach. And he almost lets out a whimper. Pathetic.

However, even in his pathetic state, he doesn't fail to notice the slight echo of footsteps getting closer. And by the time they stop next to him, and he looks up, he feels safe.

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It took three hours of waiting before Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley couldn't bear the anxiousness and worry about what their friend was up to.

It took another hour of rushing through every thinkable hallway in the castle for them to find their friend.

And by the time they found him, Ronald was convinced he was dreaming and Hermione was wondering what sort of illusion she was under.

Because what they found, was their best friend snuggled under a blanket in a corner, wrapped up, with his arms safely around none other than Draco Malfoy. Sound asleep.

"Wow."

"Yeah."

"No wonder he wouldn't take my sister back."

But, in the end, to them it didn't matter, because their friend had a ghost of a smile on his face. And that was all they wanted.

THE END.

For everyone reading this, thank you! This was the last chapter, and getting a review with your opinion on it would make me so happy! I enjoyed writing this, and I want to continue writing. So please tell me what you would want to see better and improved. 

I hope you liked it.

xox, Riette.


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